


Sam Winchester Headcanons

by witchofletters



Series: Sam Winchester-Headcanon is Canon [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 17:26:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchofletters/pseuds/witchofletters
Summary: Sam loves tea and he doesn't care who knows.





	Sam Winchester Headcanons

**Author's Note:**

> Loose coda to 12x3

Tendrils of caramel spun up from the tea bag in the bottom of the cup. Sam doesn’t remember when or how, but he’d long ago adopted the very European idea that there was nothing a cuppa couldn’t fix. 

He remembers Pastor Jim brewing peppermint leaves into tea one long weekend they spent with him while Dad was off killing something. Sam had caught some nasty stomach bug from a school he’d attended for a week, tops, and Jim was adamant the boys stay with him so Sam could recover properly. When he passed a steaming cup to Sam, just the aroma instantly loosened the knot in his gut and as he sipped it, he felt the warmth spread through his veins and the mint calm his insides.

When he was having trouble sleeping, Jessica suggested chamomile tea. She picked up a loose leaf blend and a tea ball for him one afternoon when she stopped into a funky little bookstore that sold incense, books on dream interpretation and crystals in every hue imaginable. The tea ball had a charm on it; dainty and silver toned, the bookstore lady had said it was a sigil for peace. Perfect, Jess thought, tucking the paper bag under her arm. She’d also purchased a book entitled “Kama Sutra and Tantra for Beginners” but that would have to wait until her big lug actually got some sleep.

Sometimes, when Dean was done with his swill from the motel coffee pot, Sam would rinse it and use it to heat some water. Rather than morning coffee, which he liked just fine but sometimes upset his stupid sensitive stomach, he’d brew up a strong cup of whatever cheap tea they provided with the cheap coffee. It was never particularly good but it both calmed him and steeled him for his day. He never brought it out, but the mesh tea ball with its little silver rune was wrapped In a clean sock in a pocket of his backpack; a sock that had clearly been Jessica’s, as it was pink and green striped. 

But one day, out and about at the open air market he’d insisted Dean stop at, he found a stall selling teas. Herbal, oolong, black, green, white, maté….

His eyes widened with excitement and he made a beeline for the booth, leaving Dean to flirt with the belly dancers. 

The clerk greeted him with a Namasté which he happily returned and she began to help him choose some teas. When he finally returned to his brother’s side, he had a cloth bag packed with several tea blends in separate brown paper packages. Dean rolled his eyes and Sam shoulder checked him, but with no real malice. 

But now, Sam thought, was a time for tea if there ever was one. He could handle torture; physical pain was a cakewalk and, though it disturbed him on a level he didn’t think possible, psychological torture wasn’t much different. The other…assaults were not something he was going to concern himself with at the moment because none of it mattered to him right now. His mom was here. Maybe this really could be home for him.

Frowning, he pulled the tea bag from the cup and dumped it unceremoniously into the sink. He ran a hand through his hair and went to his room. He’d kept a small collection of herbal teas, just in case, and this was certainly a just in case kinda day. He fumbled around in his box of mementos until he found the soft, faded knit of the striped sock. Pulling out the now tarnished and dented mesh ball, he couldn’t help but smile. He practically sprinted back to the kitchen, just in time for the kettle to start building from a whistle to a shriek. Sam placed a pinch of his favorite sleepytime blend in the ball and snapped it shut, pouring boiling water over it to let it steep.

Much better. 

He rinsed the ball and reverently returned it to its sock, ready to stash it away again, when he paused. The tea would be far too hot to drink for several minutes still and there were many, many glass jars in the kitchen of the Bunker, begging to be filled with spices and pasta and herbs and…..loose leaf teas. He only had a few and what he did have barely covered the bottom of the jars, but they looked lovely and they’d stay fresh. He scootched them back on the counter, near the magnetic strip with the knives Dean had newly sharpened and the hooks for potholders and dish towels. He pulled the ball out again and hung it from a hook, just above his teas. Perhaps this was home. After all, his family was here. Another bittersweet smile crossed his features as he stuffed the sock in his pocket and picked the tea up off the sideboard.

He padded stocking-footed down the chilly corridor to the room Dean had prepared for their mother. He rapped smartly on the door frame and mentally awarded himself house points for remembering his manners. 

When he saw his mother, though, clean and healed, golden hair loosely plaited, eyes bright with life and curiosity….that was a balm even tea couldn’t hold a candle to.


End file.
